Young sonorous grove
A woodcutter hewed.
All that God conceived -
Man reviewed.
And the grove's no more -
Only rusted stubs.
In the native voice -
Only foreign sobs.
Haunted are the rings
In your darkened eyes.
Now that we become –
Close-knit enemies.
1917
vip/1 Sept 2013
* * *
Молодую рощу шумную